Emperatriz & Queen
by dunbarisms
Summary: 1539. Isabella of Portugal, Holy Roman Empress and Charles V's wife dies. Charles shortly pulls out of his grief when the Council reminds him that he needs to find another wife. To honor his aunt Catherine of Aragon, Charles brings Mary to Spain and makes her his new wife. Meanwhile, in England, King Henry marries Anne of Cleves.
1. The Proposal

**Summary:**

Isabella of Portugal, Holy Roman Empress and Charles V's wife dies. The Kingdoms of Spain are in despair. And yet, Charles is shortly pull out of his grief when the Council reminds him that he needs to find another wife despite vowing not to. In England, Henry VIII is finding a new wife and it seems that Anne of Cleves might be the ideal candidate. His oldest daughter Mary, now 23 remains unmarried and not consider a Princess by her father despite being in his good graces once more. What would've happened if Charles marries Mary and becomes Holy Roman Empress and later, Queen of England?

 _Chapter 1 Prelude._ **The Proposal.**

Only months have passed since his wife has passed away and the Council is already pushing for him to remarry. Do they have no respect for the memory of the one who had been their Empress? The politician in him understands, he is still young, and he needs to remarry, solidify another alliance. The most prominent candidate is his cousin, Princess Mary Tudor, daughter of his aunt Catherine of Aragon and King Henry the VIII.

She seems to stand out the most for the Council, now a young woman instead of the six-year-old girl he had met in their previous engagement. He remembers her as a little girl, with brownish red hair, so like his own mother. He feels at guilt ever since he had put off their engagement and chose Isabella. At the time it was an urgent matter; he had to marry and waiting for Mary to grow up was not viable, Isabella was closer in age. However, now the sixteen years that keeps him apart from Mary are welcomed. He had neglected his cousin and he feels sorrow for her. Only three years have passed since Queen Catherine's death and King Henry has already married one of his mistresses and is in search for another wife.

He remembers the empty promises he had made to his aunt once. And perhaps it was time to take them into consideration. He knows Henry would not be pleased with his decision. Then again, he does not have to know about it until the marriage is consummated. He will bring Mary to Spain and it will all be done. He will receive Mary in the Alhambra, the very same place where her mother was raised and all will be well.

And so, with some ink and paper, he writes his first letter, thinking every word with careful care. The future of his Empire was at stake, as well, the fragile care of his cousin, who he knows is propense to illness.

 _Mi querida prima Maria,_

 _I hope you are well, three years have passed since the death of your mother, my aunt, Queen Catherine, and my only regret is not being there for you, as family and Emperor. My mother spends days in grief at the news of her younger sister's fate and her rage for King Henry only grew. But I write to you not to speak of the past but the future. As you might be aware, I find myself without a wife and empress and I was reminded of a promise I once made to your dear mother._

 _I will arrange with Chapuys for you to be boarded on a ship and travel here, to Spain, where I will receive you in person. You will be here, under my care, for you to see the place where your mother was raised and to enjoy some well-deserved rest and sun. And then, if your heart still desires it, I will make a proposition to you; a title fit for the princess and queen you were born to be, Maria. It is my heart's desire and that of the Council's interest if you accept my proposal of becoming the new Holy Roman Empress and become husband and wife._

 _More details will be discussed once you arrive at the Alhambra. You must know this will be done all in secret, as we are both aware of your father's temper and his treatment of your person. Cross my heart, by God's Grace, I will restore your position as future Queen of England._

 _God Bless you, cousin mine._

 _Yours, Charles V._

Mary could feel the tears threatening her eyes. At once, her prayers had been answered and she was sent an answer. Blue eyes gaze at the Spanish Ambassador with hope and he only offers the gentlest of smiles; in his eyes, she was already his new Empress.

God rest Isabella in heaven, but Mary is pleased with this new development. She fears her father's wrath once he finds out, but once he does, she will be already in Spain. Mary rises from her chair and so does Chapuys. He follows with care as she glances once more at the letter, out of disbelief, and then, she brings from her night table, a token. She recognizes at once.

"I still hold on into this." A brioche, with Charles' name on it. One she wore when he visited her. She remembers a tall man, with a great chin and deep gaze, who gifted her horses and spoke wonders of her, they even danced together! "Send it to his Imperial Majesty as my response." And the Ambassador simply nods.

All was going to be well.

"Ambassador do tell me if all is ready for my voyage to Spain." If it was for her own will, she would make haste, and go at once. But she must learn to wait. "I shall have my ladies prepare my luggage."

Chapuys nods, always respectful and diligent. "Do not carry much, my sweet lady, for I believe many gifts will await your arrival, Princess." _But not a princess for long_ , she hopes, and her eyes brighten up.

"In that case, I will be ready to sail with the first light of dawn, Ambassador."


	2. The Meeting

Chapter Two. _**The Meeting.**_

She was received in Castile. According to her last letter from Charles, he thought it would be fitting, to meet where their grandparents met, same Castle. She would've wished to see the Alhambra first, as it was what her mother had called home for many years. But she wasn't there to complain, as she feared it would cause trouble in their already unstable alliance. The Emperor has already changed his mind about marrying her, although she could hardly blame him from breaking said pact at her tender age of six, but she is not risking her passage to happiness.

 _She will make her mother proud._

Spain is different than England. The weather for instance. It's warmer, something she notices the moment they set foot in Spanish soil. Her dress feels too heavy and too folded with layers, while comfortable in England, they do not fit Spain. Mar had asked Chapuys to find her some suitable clothes, as she would not meet Charles looking completely English. Though she did refuse to let her hair down to the meeting (it appears maidens wear it in such fashion in this side of the world), though they agreed on wearing it without the french hood.

People were curious as she paraded herself through the streets, they greet her with ease, the symbol of her mother, a pomegranate, displayed through the people warmed her heart. Though they weren't shouting or proclaiming her name, they bowed to her: _"¡Demonsle la Bienvenida a la Princesa Maria!_ " They were welcoming her and calling her princess. It lifted a weight on her shoulders as she stood proudly by her horse.

Though the trip had been tiring, and Mary is sure that once she arrives, Charles would have news of her father; as she left through the heist and cover of the night, with a handful of her ladies and some clothes for the journey. Surely he must be raging mad she did so.

But she is no longer under his palm, and she will never be again. She will be Empress. She will be a Queen, like her mother and grandmother before her.

When she enters the crown room, from across the room she sees her cousin. The Emperor. Charles. He looks different from when she saw him the first time, but years had passed, he had been 19 years when they met and Mary, she was only six. Time has taken it's time om both, however, they were Isabel of Castile's grandchildren, they knew duty was before showing their pains. She knows the protocol, she is the one to approach him, for he is the one with higher status.

He surprises her by being the one to stand before her, a welcoming smile on his lips. Mary cannot help but to do the same, as she bows.

"No need for such formalities, Princesa. You will be Empress and you should bow to no one." He speaks, his accent is clear, reminding her of her mother for a moment, and she stands up, his hand in the air, being offered for her to take.

She does so. " _Le traje esto de regalo, su Majestad Imperial_ (I brought you this gift, your imperial highness)" Formalities cannot be left in her mind, for she was married a princess. And the young woman asks a maiden to deliver her gift. In her palm, a broch, old but shiny, with the name Charles wrote on it. "I wore this the first time we met. And I will wear it until the day I die, close to my heart, where my mother and God are."

Her gesture makes some people whisper, and take kindly to her catholic nature. She also offers him his own broche. Her name in the Spanish translation clear; _Maria_.

All seems to be going well. He said nothing, though does show a sign of good faith and takes the broche for himself, placing it in his tunic and Mary can finally sigh in relief. "Now, Mary. We must talk in private. I received word from your father." The tone is polite and gentle and she marbles and his steadiness and how he doesn't show if he is scared or troubled by the letter.

 _Her father never had that. She always knew when he was angry._

So they move to a private chamber. They are silent through the entire way and once they arrive, he requests to be left alone. Mary would be lying if she didn't panic a little at the sight of a bed. **His bedroom**. But then she sees the table, full of papers, ink and feather all around, and the Imperial sigil all waiting for him to sign. She eases down, hoping to know her cousin well. After all, this would be a place she would frequent often in her near future.

"May I ask what my father had to say?" A silly question really. Mary holds herself in place as he turns around, paper in hand, his eyes, clear blue like her own stare with no emotions on sight. "Does he request my return to England?" Would he really want to wage war against the Holy Roman Empire? England's arcs cannot afford such a fight in loose conditions.

"Indeed he does. However, any threat he throws my direction is empty. We all know he cannot afford to do such a thing now. The King speaks of completely illigitimizing you from the line of succession if we continue this plot." Her breathing tightens as her hands hold her middle, grasping whatever edge of cloth she could to hold herself. How dare he? Her father was a vile man. Was she not the one he called the Pearl of England? Of his world? And now, he is doing this. "However, he is to recognize you as his daughter if you marry me. And so, enabling an alliance against France. And he requests gold, of course. For the troubles we caused."

If she didn't know better, she would think Charles found that amusing, by the way his lip twitches upwards for a moment, as he leans to the table. "What will you do?" Mary asks, almost fearful that he will return her to England. And then she would be at the mercy of Henry.

"What do you wish to do?" He asks in return to hero own question, taking on a step closer, the letter long forgotten as a familiar gesture reaches for her, his hand grabbing hers. So different from the formal, almost political manner they did earlier. "I was aware of the trouble it would cause to Henry the moment I brought you here. But he was not the one I had in mind. I made a promise to your mother. I have arrived later than ever but I will see it through."

Chivalrous. Not out of love but moral obligation. But Mary knew better.

A contract marriage could bring happy memories to her future. And at this point, Mary wished to stop being an observer. She was to be Empress. She needed to take action. "Then send my father congratulations on his new marriage. And that I wish to remain here."

It pleases Charles, it seems.

And above all, it pleases her.

She will no longer be Lady Mary Tudor, bastard child of the King of England. Or poor Princess Mary, who her father did not love enough. She is Maria Tudor, future Holy Roman Empress and Queen of Spain, the daughter of the beloved queen Catherine of Aragon. "Welcome home, Maria." Charles greets.

And Mary finally feels as if she belongs.


	3. Stranger Tides

Chapter Three. _**Stranger Tides**_

 **England, 1539.**

The King had been in a bad mood for weeks by now. Everyone at court knew that the Lady Mary was no longer with them, having been taken, not by force but by choice, to Spain, and the Ambassador was already telling Henry of the news his daughter brought to him. That she will stay in Spain, that she had no desire to his throne now that he had a son through Jane. Henry holds the letter in one hand, a goblet of wine in another, rage fulling his every bone with each word he read. Just like her mother, Mary had managed to shatter his patience.

 _Dear Father;_

 _I pray to God your wrath will cease with time and patience. I confess, hand on my heart, that it was no intention to harm you or your country, now that you have young Edward by your side as news of his birth reached Spain, I thought best to release myself from your side, as many girls do when they are of age and find a husband. His Imperial Majesty, my cousin, finds an alliance between our countries a desired one now that I'm by his side, and hopefully, next time we meet, I shall be a wife, and god's will, a mother as well._

 _I congratulate you at the birth of my brother, and I wish I had been there to support you and Jane during those long hours, and I pray for the Queen's soul now she is amongst heaven's angels._

 _Your loving and dutiful daughter,_

 _Mary._

He throws the letter to the ground, shaking his head. But, he cannot show himself as weak, he has to show people that Mary leaving was his idea, that everything was made to ally himself with Charles. And so is his will, Courtiers will know Mary left to marry Charles as planned between the monarchs.

No one shall know it was a ploy between his daughter and his _nephew_.

 **Spain, 1539.**

Mary can hardly breathe. Not for the dress, although it was tight, Spanish corsets were less tight than those she wore in her homeland. But her wedding was soon to be accomplished and with that, came the wedding night, above all, she was more nervous about the latter than vowing before God. She does that every morning, and marrying Charles had always been a dream of her as a young girl. But a wedding night? Share her body with a man? And the hopeful thought of then having children? It all scared Mary.

Someone knocks by the other side of the door and Mary must send one of her maids to open to see who it was. "It's His Imperial Majesty, ma'am." And some of her other ladies mutter how it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in their dress prior to the wedding, and thus, why she was now being thrown with a curtain to cover herself.

"Ladies, this is all such a silly matter." She laughs slightly as heavy footsteps enter the room, Charles looking as regal as any man should look while wearing a crown. There was a smile hidden under thick beard at the sight before her.

"Ah. Even a curtain looks beautiful around you, Mary. Isn't it so, ladies?" And the maids chuckle down at his attempt to flirt, causing Mary to blush down, white skin showing clear as day her embarrassment. "May I have a word with the future queen alone? I promise I will not peak at the dress." He offers, a hand on his heart, not even in teasing manner he would tempt fate with causing this wedding to not happen.

As the ladies leave, Mary looks back at the man before her and can't help to note every feature. He is handsome, and although he hasn't changed that much since she met him all those years ago, the notion of handsome features come with her growth as a woman. She knows he had a few mistresses, as many kings do, and as her mother before her, she will look the other eye if she must, for the sake of this alliance.

"I was informed you barely ate this morning. And I can imagine it must be the nerves." Charles is kind, subtle even, in his approach to the subject, he wants to speak of what troubles her mind, but what kind of woman speaks out loud of her fears and desires for her wedding night? All she knows is that it will, possibly, hurt.

By looking at her, he knows though. And it had been so long since he has been with an untouched woman that he is as scared as she is.

"I wish my mother was here." It's all Mary can say as deep blue eyes look at his own before they break free from his lingering gaze and drop to the ground. "This is meant to be my happiest moment. And the beginning of my new life."

"I know it's no comfort, but my mother will be here." Queen Joanna? It was odd, very odd. She knows things are tense, and madness is supposed to run through her aunt. However, she knows another thing, how similar in appearance Joanna is with her mother and thus, Mary nods in agreement. That would do. "And this will be the beginning of your new life, Maria."

That will be her name now. _Maria_ , Holy Roman Empress. No longer Lady Mary or Princess Mary Tudor. Her mother would be proud. She still craves for the throne of England, and maybe one day, she will reach it, if God allowed her to rule. Uniting Spain and England in peace at last.

She feels the warm of his hand on her own. Comfortable. Familiar. Hope for the future. "I suppose I should call you Carlos then. Charles is far too English, is it not?" And the young woman laughs with ease, enjoying the roll of his name with her mother's tongue. "You must go."

And Charles stays in place for a moment. Hands on hand, for a moment she believes he is going to kiss her. Not that she would deny him that pleasure, for she had been wanting to be kissed for a long time. To be loved. However, even if he does lean over, the kiss is gentle and by her cheek. A promise of sorts. "I'll be waiting, under god's eye, we shall be husband and wife. King and Queen." And with one last squeeze of her hand, he leaves the room.

Once the door is closed, Mary releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding on, her heart beating fast by her heart, hands wrapped around her mother's rosary.

"Please, God, allow this marriage to be prosperous. Let my mother's dream be fulfilled." And with the church's bells ringing upon her, Mary is guided by her ladies to the chapel.

And only hours later, Mary is the righteous second wife of the Holy Roman Emperor.

Days later, with the Spanish Ambassador, Henry hears of the union. He also breaks that letter and campaigns to fight the Emperor with the help of the French.

 **A/N:** I'm going to write chapter 4 as soon as I publish this one! I was thinking if to make the wedding night a chapter, since for Mary, being so religious and all, the wedding night must be important, considering her mother's history.

And in other news, I might make other Princess Mary stories though I'm not sure about what. I thought of making Mary and Edward Seymour or Charles Brandon.


	4. The Wedding Night

**Chapter Four:** _The Wedding Night._

The ceremony passed through her eyes with ease. The feast that came after left her even more nervous, that was until Charles sooth her with the news that the bedding ceremony would have no witnesses, only the display of the sheets the morning before. It helped ease her soul but not quite. Her trouble wasn't with the ceremony itself; Mary had always been a good Catholic, and a follow of the doctrine and the laws that were placed upon her because the title she held. Her trouble was with **the act**. Mary had stayed untouched by any man, her lips haven't even kissed another man.

Her knowledge of what will transpire that night was brief and to the point. Her governess told her once; that allow her husband to do as he pleased, and she must not resist. That there will be pain.

And yet, she failed to see the pain in an act that was meant to bring a new life to the world. Did God truly thought it was sinful to lay with one's husband? She had barely drank from her goblet when her eyes glance to her side; her now husband and emperor was in avid chatter with one of his courtiers. He had a very defined jawline; his eyes similar to her own with intense clear orbs. His hair a shade of auburn though it seems brown because the lighting in the room; and while Charles was still young, his hair was growing a few grey hairs, surely because of the stress of the role he had to play.

"My Queen?" Mary is snapped back to reality as Charles' voice calls for her. There is curiosity in his tone, a question, as he sees her observing him, and when she looks down, a blush visible in her white cheeks, the emperor cannot smile himself at the blushing bride. "There is no shame in _admiring_ your husband, Maria. As there is no shame in a man admiring his wife." He said those final words leaning to her, the smile only growing by the side, rising his goblet to his lips, causing Mary to blush even more.

"I'm just nervous, my king. It has been quite the ceremony. And it has been a while since I had such attention display on and for me." Which was true. She was known as only Lady Mary back in England at her father's wishes. And the attention was drifted to her baby sister Elizabeth. She feels pity for her sister then; because Elizabeth was left in a country that does not wish her there. "I do miss my young sister, Elizabeth. Her mother was a dreadful and wicked woman but the child has done no wrong. She is now in the same position I was as a child." A mother gone, a father vile who wished nothing with her; her title and honors gone.

There is silence then, she can feel the weight of the man's gaze on her features before hearing a heavy sigh. "I promise I shall do whatever it is possible to ensure Elizabeth is safe where she belongs." And Mary can only sigh as well and offer a gentle smile, though the taint of sadness lingers by the corner. "It's our wedding feast, Maria. People will talk if they see the bride looking so gloom. Does my presence bothers you already?" And he is teasing.

Her smile grows wider, looking down for a moment, she composes herself, her smile matched by his own. They stay there looking at one another; and she is thankful her hand is occupied with a goblet or else she would see her fingers shaking as he holds her gaze. "No, Charles. Your presence is quite welcome."

Another silence between the two. And then a hand extended for her. "It is getting late. We shall retire to bed." And the Emperor rises from his table, everyone else following sharply behind and Mary does the same. To bed. Dear heavens, it was time. But Mary knows her place, and offers a smile to all of them around them, eyes reaching for the Queen Joanna, there, she sees her mother. And sees confidence and warmth.

She sees strength. All women have the same expression. They have all been where she is now. **The first night**.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Her door is besides his own. Surely he is waiting inside, both in their nightgowns. Mary has a drape around her shoulders; her hair still tightly wrapped even if her french hood was gone, she had decided she wanted her new husband to release her hair as well as her body, a vote of confidence from the young woman. Her ladies joined her as she knocks on the door, as it shortly opens, a servant leading her inside.

The bishops blessed the matrimonial bed and both of them. Mary managed to not let her heart leap out of her chest cavity as she looks to her side, Charles standing in the loose night shirt and the trousers. "Leave us." He commands, everyone leaves the room, though her ladies seem to have second thoughts about leaving her by her own devices.

Eyes find Charles then and she breathes out. "Listen to your Emperor, ladies. Leave us." She is surprised by the nature of her voice, proud features as she hears her mother in her own. Calm, gentle but firm.

The door closes behind her and Charles' hand finds her own, a shiver through her arm rises at the contact as he leads to stand before the bed, Mary tries not to look on that direction, surely she would faint knowing the weight of her title depended on what transpire tonight. She had a job to do, and while Charles might not care for heirs to the throne, as their cousin Isabella had already provided, she does. A voice in the back of her head telling her that any future children would have a claim to the english throne, nevermind her father surely already taking her out of the succession.

And she wanted to _ **please him.**_ Her husband.

"Maria. You need to ease yourself." And his voice calls her back to reality, his free hand reaching behind her head; fingers toying with the material holding her hair half up, not quite releasing it yet. "We can wait for another night if you wish to." A kind offer, one she is glad. But if her mother was alive, she would tell her she had a duty tonight, and eventually she would have to go through this.

 _Best to not wait too long._

Actions speak louder. Mary takes a hesitant step closer, head looking up, her lips curve into a gentle, barely visible smile. But it's there, and her intent is clear. If it's not, her words should speak for her actions. "I cannot wait. We have a duty." Awful to say bedding with your husband is a duty, but it was. Then, crimson blush spreads through her cheeks. "I have no experience on the matter."

Charles' breath seems to caught on his throat. Surely he knew. But still, it meant he would have to lead them step by step on what would happen. At last, his hand releases her hair, auburn curls bouncing by her shoulders and beyond, she swallows hair as he seems to play with it, gently placing it behind her, hands moving to the drape around her shoulders. And then it's gone, and there she stands, only in her nightgown.

"I will be gentle. And we will take things slow." The emperor is gone and the man is speaking. Mary can tell enough by the way his voice drops and while still warm and manly, he is gentle, his hand resting now by the side of her neck, thumb pressing her jawline, caressing the smooth skin there. "But you must tell me if something gives you discomfort. This has to be a pleasant experience for both."

"I was told-only the man must enjoy. That a woman must do as she is told." And the young woman blushes furiously though her eyes never leave his own, hands, timid but leading, land on the front of his shirt, simply landing there, feeling the skin under the cloth and the beat of his heart. His chest vibrates with a loud chuckle. "I never expected to marry, thus I saw no point in finding for myself."

The sad truth was that. After two failed engagements and rejected proposals, she figured her days were counted to be eternally a maiden. After all, she was beyond her marriage age, but it doesn't seem to bother Charles that much. "A woman must enjoy as much as the man, querida. And, some say that the enjoyment of both will increase the chances of a conception." Which while not needed, would be nice.

Mary does wish to be a mother. And most of Charles' children are too old to call her mother, and she would never have the strength to tell them to address them in such manner. No. If she would conceive a child, she would be most happy. "Can I kiss you?" She asks, momentarily surprised by her own words. He seems amused, if not a little surprised himself, but he takes a step closer, both hands now holding her head, gently leaning it up, she feels the bump of his forehead on her own. "I never kissed anyone before."

"Then, I shall be the first and the last." The man speaks, he is partially proud of that accomplish, the only one to touch her will be him. The first, the last, the only one. Her heart threatens to rip from her chest as his lips brush over her own, blue against blue as they look into each other, but he doesn't press his lips into her own completely until her eyes are close, mouth gape open to leave room for his own, her breath on her throat.

His lips are soft, the stubble makes the skin around her mouth itch but she doesn't mind, hands grasping the material of his shirt, a gesture he finds encouraging as he deepens his kiss, his tongue reaches out, gentle brush over her lower lip, a gasp leaving her mouth at the touch and he takes this opportunity to intrude; tongues touching one another, and Mary feels the a strange heat through her body, one hand moves to his neck, tugging the hair she finds there, and, courageously, she tugs him closer.

One of his hands threads through her hair, the other reaches her waist.

And she is lifted from the ground, Mary lets out a gentle whine, though it's follow by a laugh once she feels his smile against her own. She feels the soft material of the bedding on the back of her knees as they break apart. Her breath is agitated and her lips swollen. She is scared, but excited, she sees the blackness in his gaze and something she never imagined a man would feel for her; desire. Hands break free from his shirt; and he takes it off with ease, Mary's gaze never breaks from his own, as she reaches strings that attached loosely her night gown. One tug and she feels the fabric loosen from her shoulders.

She feels a heat, and pudor, once his hand reaches and helps pull the fabric completely away. Unlike her, his eyes do wander down her skin, inspecting her body, his chest rises up and down as he does so. His knuckles brush ghostly over the skin of her shoulders and beyond, her heart stops as his hand reaches the side of her breast and stays there, Mary can feel the thumb brushing the sensible skin there, his other hand is resting on his back, forcing her body close to his own, and she feels it. Something hard and throbbing by her middle. She gasps.

She knows, of course, the meaning behind, her education on the matter is slim but not that slim.

"If you wish to stop, you have to speak now, Maria." His voice is different now. Lower, dangerous low, husky, as if he was trouble finding words. It sounds like a warning; though there is a part of her that hears a pleading.

But she doesn't want to stop. She leans to his chest, her naked torso touching his own and sending a chill through her core, her feet standing on their toes as she reaches to him and kisses him as her answer.


	5. Chapter Five: The New Empire

**A/N:** My computer is broken so this is why I am taking long lapsus between chapter and chapter. However, chapter six is coming through, it's short but steamy! I avoided the subject of steaminess with Mary's first time but this one will be important for Mary and Charles' relationship. I also established in this chapter a bit of an agenda for Mary regarding her aunt Juana and her ladies in waiting who are, of course OCs.

 **Chapter Five:** The New Empire.

The rich dim light hits her features as soon as she wakes up. There is a moment of clear surprise inside her, until she feels a warm body by her side. It's strange, the only time she slept with someone else was with her mother, and she had been far too young to even remember that clearly.

But this was not her mother; it's much more intimate, an arm wrapped around her middle, inevitably pulling her closer, she feels a pressure on her backside that tells her that her companion was a male. **Oh**. And she blush at the thought of what she had done the night before. **Her Wedding Night**. And before her, the holy roman emperor, her husband .

There is a soreness between her thigh that makes her shift uncomfortably, pulling the blankets away to see the result of the night. Mary is glad, at least, that this was proof of her innocent. And the goodbye to her the last portion of her life in England, and the beginning of a new life in Spain. The stain of blood lays between her legs and she is oddly fascinated by it all. She hardly notices that Charles was now awake and sitting beside her, the arm never leaving her waist, despite all they did last night, Mary still finds it in her to blush at the thought. "Ah. Best we deliver this to be clean." Though she knows. The bedding ceremony was over.

And now they needed proof of her virginity.

So far, he makes no attempt to move from the bed. A comfortable silence falls between the two as she feels the familiar weight of his head laying by her shoulder, his chest pressed to her covered back and just staying there. "Were you hurt?" It warms her heart he worries so much about her. He had done so the first moments of intimacy, but he had seem too lost in his thoughts to actually care even further one the heat was unbearable. Mary shrugs over, head to the side so she could catch the familiar blue stare.

"It's **sore** at the moment." And she is swift to make another comment, considering her comment might wound him. "It didn't during well, all that." And he breaks a gentle smile.

His beard tickles her skin as his lips come in contact with her back, a kiss leaving a burning sensation in her shoulder that she can only smile and breathe out in relief. Things will work out, that she has faith. "It will get better. Or so I have heard. But Mary, you must tell me when you feel uncomfortable." she understands. This is her duty now.

Their duty. He has an heir, he has children but she also wishes to give him more and maybe, in the future,her children would become part of England's history. Thoughts vanish from her mind at the pressure of his hand through her grown by her middle, her body responding as she is pushed down by gentle weight.

And she laughs. It feels good doing so and she thanks the heavens she chose this over staying with her father, despite how much she loved him. But the dim light of the room lets her see the see-through material of her nightgown, though her husband doesn't seem to mind. She feels self conscious, enough to ask a question herself. "Did you enjoyed yourself?" Blush on her cheeks, Mary toys with the curls on the back of his neck, though her eyes are focused on the lines of his collarbone.

"Oh Maria. I hardly could contain myself. You are an exquisite woman. So yes, I enjoyed myself." Perhaps he is being kind. But Mary can't see any trouble in his eyes like when she speaks with her father. If anything, he sounds sincere. His hands feel calloused against the skin of her neck as he swifts closer. "And if you must know, wife, I can hardly contain myself now."

There is no love. Mary knows well by his words and by the little time they have known one another, but this was about enjoying themselves, the life of a queen, an empress, a wife, a lover. There was room for love later. Timid gaze glances down at his body as it presses to her side, where it created friction against her leg and she feels it. " Oh ." And her blush grows by the second.

She laughs casually, if not a little timid, quickly joined by Charles. Mary feels her head dragged closer, her nose brushing against his own. A thought in her mind comes, he probably sees her as a mere replacement for Isabella, God rest her soul. "Do we have time?" Mary mumbles under her breath, daring to move to close the distance.

The kiss feels different. It's less rush and more sloppy. There is no more anticipation and mystery, and Mary feels comfortable doing this, their lips moving together, her mouth gape in surprise as she feels his teeth pull her bottom lip gently.

And followed by a groan as someone knocked at the door, the look on her husband's face caused Mary to giggle under her breath. "Afraid we do not. But, let's enjoy ourselves. You are young, Maria." And a hand lowers her head so he can press a kiss to her temple. "You can continue resting. I will sent a lady to help you dress later." And Charles moved to the door, covering herself as a woman entered the room and removes the stained sheet.

Mary saw the look of relief in her face as she exit the room. Apparently, it was a good sign and a spanish costume she isn't sure she enjoys. But it's done now. "Will I see you today?" And his blue eyes find her own as she wraps the remain of the mattress around her. "Tonight?"

And the emperor smiles. "We will see each other, Maria. Rest now." And she nods, a smile on her lips.

She fears her happiness wouldn't last long with this type of situation. So she plans to make the most of it while it last.

It's later that day after having her meal that Mary meets Queen Juana. Her aunt. She only sees her briefly, as the woman seems to be leaving the palace and back to the convent where she was staying. Mary had pity for the woman, and thought that it had been cruel how she was treated, perhaps she will let Charles now.

But she knows better than to play her cards all at once. The woman looks elderly, but she sees her mother and Mary is taken back and, by the looks on Juana's face, she was feeling the same, as Mary had always been told she looks like her mother.

"Your Majesty." And Mary bows down, though, considering her new position, she shouldn't. She outranks the woman. But this is about respect. "My mother often spoke of you, she had such fond memories of her childhood back in Castile."

And Juana seems to examine her thoroughly. Mary does her best to not falter under her gaze. "She was only a child when I left for Flanders. And I saw her once in England, when she was still a princess and your father a young prince." She had been told of such. It seems such a long ago since that happened.

"I hope I will see you soon, Lady Juana. Perhaps, could I join you for diner one day?" A bold move, but if Juana is bothered, she doesn't show it, just a pry move of her head.

"Perhaps." And a bow. "Good day, Empress ." And with that, her little meeting with her mother-in-law ended. It could've gone worse. Her ladies joined in knowing looks with her as she starts walking through the gardens.

The ladies were her best company ever since she arrived. Fiona de Gonzalez was a young maiden given to the previous empress as a lady before her death. And Manuela Carrilla had been called after the Emperor announced he would have a new queen. Both of them were pretty, and Mary's mind wanted to settle something.

Because she knows kings take mistresses. And she knows Charles has illegitimate children just like her father. "Ladies, I would like honesty, despite knowing one another so little." And Mary sat by the grass, the girls joining in.

"What is it, your majesty?"

"If the Emperor comes to you and request for your services, I would like to know." And the younger women look at one another. "You are aware of my situation. Anne Boleyn broke my parents marriage and made me illegitimate. Her ambitions run too deep and it ruined my country, my religion, my mother." Mary glances away as she thinks her words with ease, eyes closing. "I can look the other way. My mother did so all of her life. What I cannot tolerate is someone like that woman breaking my marriage."

The youngest of the girls, Manuela, looks sympathetic, a nod as to aware Mary's words before speaking. "My lady, the Emperor stopped having mistresses after his wife died. However, if that eases your mind, I will speak to you as you request. I serve you, my lady. We were expecting you." And Fiona, who seems like a bit shyer, just nodded in agreement.

And silence comes for the three ladies as they stare at the Emperor walking with his privy council by the opposite side of the garden. He seems too deep in thought and fo a moment, Mary sees he looks older than he is. Be it for grief, stress or all combined.

"You will make him happy, my lady. He needs someone to his side. And we heard stories of your mother. We pray to God he will grant you both happiness." And at the mention of her mother, Mary touches her rosary, that belonged to the late english queen and nods, her hands reaching for the girls in gratitude.

"Now, ladies. Let's go practice our steps. I heard the Emperor is hosting a diner soon and I wish to impress him." She had been learning a spanish dance since coming to spain and now wished to perform it. The girls seems bright enough at the thought. "And maybe so, you will meet a young courtier soon enough. Though not too soon. I am enjoying your company."

Dancing was one of Mary's greatest joys. She sometimes forgot of her partner and just enjoyed the music herself, but the girls joining in with the steps, laughing as they step on each other's toes filling the small garden, that is until a hand, too big and calloused to be one of her ladies took hers.

And she finds Charles standing close to her, an almost curious and mocking smile on his lips. "Charles." His name a whisper, she releases her hand and does as she knows she has to do, a bow to her husband is done. "Imperial Majesty." And her eyes rise soon from his feet to his own, the smile is replaced by a deep thought.

He stays quiet through a while, as Mary approaches and dismisses her ladies, who stand to a side away from them, hoping to give their majesties some time on their own. "There is rumours your father is looking for a new queen."

A frown appears on her forehead, confusion spread over delicate features. "But he married the german princess, did he not? Anne of Cleves." Wasn't that what she was told. "Who?"

"That we do not know. But it seems he is searching for a way out for their marriage. Lady of Cleves will not oppose him, it seems." Smart woman. Not that her mother had been blind or ignorant, but the english queen surely knew of her father's temper.

Mary looks down to the rosary and shakes her head. "He keeps tarnishing my mother's name and position." Why keep searching for a wife? Her own grandfather never married after the death of her grandmother and yet here is King Henry, picking wife after wife. "He makes us seems so disposable."

"You are not, Maria. Your father is a blind man for power and paranoia." And hands warm the skin of her neck as he keeps himself close, thumbs by her chin, lifting her gaze. "Fear not, I will not forsake you. I swear so on God's name and Isabella." It pains her to see the sadness on his gaze. It might never leave him, though she hopes she will sooth him.

Just as much as he was soothing her with words. And Mary makes a decision there. A whisper between the emperor and empress. A lover's voice. "I want to see you tonight, Carlos. Will you come to me?" And there is a pause as she fears he will say no, his mouth open and he seems to consider.

A promise in the form of a kiss by her cheek is made; a soft whisper by her ear causing her to smile like any young bride would. "I will come to you."


	6. The Talk

**Chapter 6: The Talk.**

Months. That long has it been since Mary had become Empress of the Holy Roman Empire and Queen by Charles' side. Things had gone smoothly, they spend most nights together, by day they would go to church together and pray side by side, cleaning her soul of the impure thoughts she felt every night when Charles would call off their servants to be the one to help her undress; for that only meant one thing.

And yet, Mary felt that their relationship had reached a halt. And while her position at Court seem only to grow, Mary could only think about what would happen to her if she was not able to produce an heir soon, despite Charles already have one. Discussions have been discussed behind her back, that she is aware, as her husband would tell her briefly. The king wasn't expected to get any more children, specially no more sons as he would wish. An heir and a spare, that's what a king need. Henry only had her brother Edward, and children barely survive their first years.

So, they discussed her role in the future. They say, she would need to step and take the throne, like her grandfather before her. By right of conquest if that is what it needs to be done. But she knows what that had done to her family; always looking behind their shoulders, afraid of the impending beheading.

"If you were to have a child, your father would perhaps rekindle you to the line of succession." More of it was a son, but Charles didn't need to speak of that for her to know what he meant.

Mary kept her hand on her stomach, feeling in the dilemma that plagued her mother. An heir to the throne of England. "And to secure Spain's future in England as well." For Mary is not dumb, her mind not a weak thing. She knew politicians, and their desires. If she had an heir born of their union, it meant Spain would have a claim to the English Throne as well.

Charles looks over to her from his desk, blue eyes finding blue and Mary keeps herself steady to control the feverish sensation she holds on her belly at the sight. He was a very intense man. Both in politics and in personal affairs. Luckily it seems, so was Mary. "Indeed."

She isn't sure how she feels about that. Though she knows how her people would. "English people would never agree to a Spanish ruler. And if England has the desire to join crowns with Scotland, it would be advised that things were kept as they were." Scottish people hardly liked the English. But Spain? That would be unthinkable. Mary thinks, eyes drifting elsewhere as she thought. "If I were to have a son who would rule England, he would need to detach himself from Spain, adopt an English name and be raised there." She would not have the English people doubt her son, if she was to have one.

Charles understands, his silence more telling than anything else. "That would not bother the affairs in here, _mi perla_." He had chosen to call her such, despite being the translation of what her father called her as a child. Unsurprisingly enough, she finds it more endearing in Spanish. "I have sons. Philip will be King of Spain. And the position of Emperor will go to who they seem fit."

After that talk, Charles stopped visiting less and less her chambers. Her maids would say he had a mistress, which she did not found surprising. He had no love for her, not yet and who knows if ever. She was but a child in his eyes. And he had his future and Spain's settle, unlike hers. Mary simply ignored her tears when she confirmed the rumors of a lover to be true.

She felt like her mother. Alone in a foreign court, the pressure of an heir put on her head and belly, the future of her country at her hands, a husband who share her bed still but seem to drift elsewhere. How did her mother bare for twenty years?

Mary avoided the eyes of the woman once in court. One of her ladies in waiting, a young girl named Isabel told her so, out of the goodness of her heart. The woman saw her staring and bowed her head. Mary could've laughed right there, she had enough respect for her to bow but not to not sleep with her husband. And yet, how can you say no to a king and emperor? But Charles noticed as well, and at least, he had the goodwill of looking ashamed of himself.

That night, he visited her.

Mary had retired early and was already in bed. To say she missed him unlacing her dress was a minimal detail. She missed him. In fact, foolish young heart of hers, might had fallen for the man. Fool indeed.

In her hands, lay her mother's bible. His eyes drift to the chemise she is wearing and the book itself and has decency to look disappointed. Had he thought she would wait for him when he hasn't showed up in weeks? Neither of them spokes for what it felt like minutes, until, Mary decided to put down her book and blue eyes look back at her husband.

"Did you wished to say something, my lord?" and she keeps her tone polite, gentle. She will not raise her voice, she is not Anne Boleyn. She will not fight when she knows servants are outside her room, expecting her to fail. When she is at risk.

Charles move forward toward the bed. Mary shifts an inch on her side of the bed. "You've been distant, Maria. And today I found out why." So, this was the reason. She looks down and closes her eyes. They will have to talk then. This is the moment he will speak of not stopping his urges for her. This is her saying she will look the other way if it needs to be done.

But she needs to make things clear.

"Do what you must, for you are King, Charles. Have many women as you desire." She spoke then, leaving the bed at last as she takes hold of the small cover at the end of the bed to give herself some warmth. "I am my mother's daughter. I'm hardly the first queen to find out her husband has mistresses." Not the first or the last for that matter.

"Maria…" But Mary raises a hand as she approaches him. For the first time in a long time, Charles things she truly looks and behaves like her mother. A powerful force. Warm and cold. Polite but stern.

"I will not, however, be put to public humiliation. Not like my mother did. If you wish to cast me out, I will fight back with the force of a thousand ships. And win, by God's will." She ends up, perhaps too dramatic but it makes the point clear. She will not allow another woman to take her place.

She, like her mother, would die for her place as ruler.

Charles takes his time to deliver a response as they stan beside one another. If he kept staring as he did, Mary felt she would lose all her bravado. "Maria, I do not wish to cast you out." He starts then. "I thought I wished for a mistress. But what I had was nothing more, nothing less, than me ending the relationship with the girl, before the banquet."

 _ **Oh.**_

She does have a hard time believing it and he notices, for he enters her personal space in a blink on an eye that makes her throat close as she gasps, his hands, cold form the air touching her warm cheeks to keep her from looking away. "You are a wonder, Mary. I'm too old now. And I do not wish to have as many women as I please, for I only want one woman."

 _ **Oh.**_ And her cheeks turn red, crimson as her mother's hair. As her very own.

"Then, why have you not visited?" She asks then.

"I wished to. But you seem distant and I thought, you wished your space." Good enough of an answer for now. Mary wished to kiss him. To make him see that she didn't want space or distance from him, not when all she desires is to have someone close to her that understands.

So, she does. Feet on their toes, Mary pushes upwards to kiss him. He loses some balance due to his bad leg, but his arms seem to find her body with ease, flushing their bodies together. Her hands coming in a bold search for his shirt, un-tugging them from his trousers. His hands, calloused as she remembered them, sneak under the loose cover she was using to keep herself warm and it falls to the ground.

It would never get easy to be like this with him. Exposed. Their lips break apart and Mary looks up, hating how she leans forward, wishing to continue. "How could I ever deny you, when you are so eager, Maria?" And she is in luck there is no light for he would see the blush on her cheeks.

But he leans forward and captures her lips in a quick, if not forceful and passionate kiss, eyes burying themselves again into her own, foreheads pressed together. "As I am eager for you, _querida_. Never doubt." He encourages willingly. His body pressed against hers, she feels the risen of the familiar sensation by her abdomen, his body reacting to their proximity and intimacy. It strokes her ego as a woman.

And it encourages her to move forward, releasing her body from the trap of the gentle chemise that falls to the ground with ease, her body uncovered for his eyes alone. Her hands explore his abdomen under his shirt, eyes glued to his. "Then have me. And I will have you."

And mouths join again in the sweet torture, her body picked from the ground as he wraps her legs around his waist, pushing them forward to the bed, as she barely notices when they fall on the mattress. She is breathing heavily, as his mouth explores her jaw and neck, finding one sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her moan. He is proud of it, and she is ashamed, but none has time to dwell on it, too consumed for them to interrupt.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A month had passed since that conversation. And while Charles didn't share her bed all nights, he always went to say goodbye or spend a moment with her. It's also been more than a month without her month course, and she had been feeling ill. Food tasted different, and she felt her breast swollen.

 _God willing,_ she speaks as prays for a child, as the doctor examines her properly. The old man finishes his work and lets her wait until he is done. "Please, doctor. What is the news?" She asks, hands over her stomach as she holds her mother's rosary.

The doctor, an old man close to sixty stares back at her with green eyes and nods. The hint of a smile visible under the white beard. "Only the fairest of news, Your Majesty. You are with child. Thirteen weeks. And it seems your body is adjusting just fine to the change, my Queen." And she breathes out of relief, smiling herself as the ladies approach her in joined joy.

"Can I tell the news to the Emperor or shall I wait?" Her own mother waited another month until she told her father, knowing he would be disappointed if she lost the child. But she isn't her mother. No. And Charles isn't her father, that is certain.

"I'm sure the Emperor will be joyful of the news, Your Grace." And the doctor leaves the room as her ladies smile and cry in joy with her.

Later that day, when she pronounces the words "I'm with child", she can see Charles' face bring a smile, one she haven't seen since she arrived at court. And as he picks her up and hugs her, a kiss to her forehead and lips, she knows this will work.

It has to. For everyone's sake. For England.

Another month passes and Mary writes a letter to her father. Short, and simple. She feels a pinch of satisfaction after she finishes.

 _Your Majesty,_

 _I write to you as a loyal subject and your daughter, who you once called the most precious pearl in the world. I write with good news that I wished to share with you and for you to tell the people of England. I am expecting a child. I received the news a month prior, but we wished to be certain the child is growing strong. The doctor has told us indeed it is, and we pray for a boy. With your permission, I wish to name him, Henry, after you and your father before you, to continue the legacy of strong men. It seems tradition here to have more than one name, and we thought it proper to name the child after his grandfather and great-grandfather; Henry Ferdinand. If a girl, we shall call her Elizabeth, for the great-grandmothers, Isabel of Castile and Elizabeth of York._

 _I wish to travel to England soon, if you would have me, Father. I would wish for the child to be born English as I am. Charles also wishes to visit soon, to discuss the ongoing conflict with France and Scotland._

 _God save you, Father._

 _Your dutiful daughter,_

 _Empress Maria._


End file.
